Story of the Road
by gAbber95
Summary: The travels and adventures of an Argonian wanderer who has escaped from her homeland. Set in Cyrodiil, this is her story through her own eyes. Centered loosely around the Dark Brotherhood quest for now, but speech etc not directly copied.


I emerge from the depths of Fort Irilstund, sword barely blooded, my pack filled with loot. My slitted eyes focus through the half-twilight of the stony corridor, scouting the way ahead, and my nose sniffs the air. This one is familiar; I see a bolt trap across one alleyway and smell the iron of blood, drying on the stones. A black-robed figure lies facedown, sprawled awkwardly.

This place was infested with necromancers; powerful magicians, but their senses dulled by the very black art they practice. They were on alert for intruders, as always, but the guards in this moldering castle were few and far between. Covered in rushes and swirling mist, the corridors were a death trap. One arrow each had been enough to take them down, most falling silent to the ground. I finger the quiver on my back, touching the feathered ends of the old iron arrows. There will plenty left for the next raid, leaving no need to restock. Despite there being only dead bodies behind me, I shut the heavy wooden door behind me. Never underestimate a necromancer, even a dead one... knowing their vile practices, it'll bite you from behind for sure.

I sheath my sword upon seeing the way out lying at the end of the hallway, and haul my bag of treasures along. Though "treasures" seems to consist today of bottles. I found about sixteen glass phials of healing potion, the weak kind, but with that and the scant gold I managed to plunder from some chests I should be able to make by for a while. The landscape is covered with caves and old mines and other such places that could hold any amount of loot. The trick is to find them. And I truly need the money; with a bounty of who knows how much on my head, it'd be no good getting caught with nothing to pay up with. I'm not going to jail. These worrisome thoughts swirl in my brain as I shoulder the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway open, shove out of the dark, dusty corridor and finally draw a breath of fresh air.

Though Irilstund must have once been a great fortress, only the lower levels, the underground ones, have remained livable. All around me, huge walls and parapets of whitewashed stone slowly waste away. A tower has fallen across the courtyard I just entered, and wildflowers, flax and monkshood and other colorful varieties, already grow across its length. The whole open space is overgrown by the tall grass that dominates most of the rest of these central-western plains. Nature is slowly taking over this man-made site. The edge of the sun is just dipping behind the horizon, casting the entire place in a warm orange glow. I breathe in the scents of the wild wood, closing my eyes in peace.

Yes, then there's me. I stand over six feet, my skin scaled and colored a deep red that darkens to pure black towards the spine. I'm bipedal like any human, but my feet and hands are clawed and slightly webbed, my body powerful and muscled, lengthening into a whip-ended tail. And of course, my face is what sets me apart most. It's longer than a human's, with large jaws and rows of sharp teeth. My eyes and nostrils are slitted, and ribbed fins of skin rise up on either side of my head, evolving into a line of small spikes down my back. My eyes are deep orange and menacing to look upon. Yet despite my interesting outlook, here in Cyrodiil all races are welcome. I am not considered an oddity like in some of the other provinces I've traveled.

Striding towards a particular patch of long grass, I find my only companion, who snorts happily at the sight of me and paws the ground in excitement. He's a beautiful chestnut stallion with the sweetest disposition that I found in the stable of a monastery on the outskirts of Chorrol. I rub his white nose affectionately before tying down the loot to the saddle. He's the closest friend I have here on the loneliness of the road. Since I'm horrible at naming things, I simply call him Horse.

By the time I'm ready, the sun has almost slipped out of sight and a bare glimmer lights the way. I climb into the soft, comfortable saddle and touch my heels to Horse's sides. We set out at a leisurely walk, and I dig out my map to inspect the lay of the land ahead.

As I suspected, we're nearing Kvatch. What I imagine to be about twenty miles lies between us and the hilltop city, but the fort raid took longer than I suspected and night is already descending. We won't make it there tonight, like I'd planned, and it's dangerous to wander the countryside at night. I decide to keep a lookout for safe places to camp among the grassy plains, fold the map away carefully, and push Horse into a relaxed canter.

It takes hours of scouring the tall grass with my tired eyes, but I finally make out the familiar glint of a tiny campfire. My own torch sputters as if on que, nearing its end. As I direct Horse towards the light, he huffs and digs in with more vigor. It must be like two in the morning, and we're both exhausted and hungry. The phials clank against each other in the saddlebags; some of them have come loose from the cloths I carefully wrapped them in to prevent breaking, but I'm too tired to bother with them. As we near, I see the peaked roofs of a couple of low tents, and breathe a sigh of relief at the thought of a warm sleeping roll. Of course, it's never that easy.

With a roar of rage, a Khajiit bandit leaps out of the bushes surrounding the camp. He brandishes an iron axe, rusted and wood-handled, and bangs it against his leather shield, hissing all the time. His face is covered in fur, he has a tail and tufted ears, and he looks just as out of place as I do in this human world. We even wear matching cheap fur and leather armor. Calmly, keeping my eyes on the feline humanoid, I slide off Horse and walk towards the bandit. I pull my silver sword from its sheath, and the Khajiit attacks without warning. At the same time, I hear a rustle to my right. _An ambush._ Of course, two tents were not raised for one occupant. I just have time to catch a glimpse of Imperial black hair and an iron mace waving towards my head before I'm forced to focus on the attack ahead.

To my great fortune, and the bandit's misfortune, the second attacker hits Horse instead of me. With a neigh of fury, his shoulder bleeding, my normally calm stallion rises on his hind legs and lashes out at the Imperial. She carries no shield, and his hooves catch her from above. I hear her scream, back away and start swinging again as Horse comes at her with all the power in his half-ton body. Meanwhile, I'm locked in my own battle with the other freak.

The Khajiit rambles in his own language as he attacks me with his wicked axe again and again. I'm not particularly skilled with a sword yet, so it's tough holding him off. I block his attacks, try to swerve around his shield, but to no avail. There's just no room. I'm becoming increasingly frustrated when I finally realize that he's wearing no greaves, only laced leather pants. And suddenly, I change my tactic of banging against the shield and cut his legs out from under him. Blood spurts along the edge of the silver sword as he goes down with a shriek. No sooner has he touched the ground that I step up and stab the weapon through his chest. The Khajiit shudders for a few short moments, then goes still. I can breathe again.

Spying his shield, I consider and then shake it off his limp arm to test it on my own. I remember how difficult it was to get around, and decide to keep it. Pleased, I walk back over to where I left Horse. The battle made us drift apart, but I can hear his hooves smacking against leather again and again. Simply following the sound, I find the fighting pair and with barely a thought, shove my sword into the Imperial woman's back from behind. I see that one of her arms hangs limp and broken, and her legs are battered by Horse until she can barely walk. She collapses immediately, dead. Horse relaxes and settles down, his eyes fixed on me. His ears swivel forwards and his tail settles into a good-natured swish. I see that his shoulder is still bleeding and his chest and neck are nicked by many small wounds. I grab his reins and tug a little. "C'mon Horse. Let's see what they left us."

The camp is relatively well stocked. I find an open bag of corn and leave Horse to munch on it while I check the area. Since the climate is forgiving here, the tents are only two walls of cloth set against the rain with rolls under them. There are three tents, instead of the two I first saw, but the last one looks abandoned while the other two are surrounded by empty ale bottles and dirty dishes. I search the barrels and sacks, and find more ale, some water and quite a sufficient amount of food for myself. There are also some bandages, so I scavenge one of the healing potions from the saddlebags, pour some into Horse's water and wet the bandages with it. I'm dead tired, but I clean Horse's wounds with my disinfectant. After the blood is washed off, I see that there's not too much damage, and he's not even limping from the direct shoulder hit. I cover them with the wetted bandages all the same, deciding to take them off before we set out in the morning. After Horse is taken care of, I finally gulp down some water and food before collapsing into one of the tents and falling asleep immediately.

I'm woken by the movement of some two-legged creature among the tents. I suddenly jerk awake, scrambling to my feet with my sword in hand and bursting into the open.

A black-robed, hooded figure is standing in the center of the camp. It's no longer quite so dark and the campfire has burned out, but by the chill and mist I realize it's still the middle of the night. Why has this person been travelling at this time? It's a fool thing to do in the safest of times. "What do you want?" I bark at the figure, still brandishing my sword groggily.

He slowly peals away the hood, and I see that under it there is a man. He seems common enough, with brown hair and a white face that make him look like a native Breton, perhaps, but a cold feeling seeps into me at the sight of him. There's something dangerous about this person, I can sense it. He carries no visible weapons, and the robe is a poor defense against arrows and knives. Danger seeps off him. His voice is smooth and cool when he answers.

"My name is Lucien Lachance, and you sleep soundly for a murderer."

Those words will haunt me for a long time.

I remember that day, yesterday or the day before. I was in Skingrad, a great city of spires and massive timber and stone buildings. I like Skingrad, I get along well with the merchants and even the beggars will do me a favor or two if I'm in need. But I got into a scuffle with one of the guards after attempting to steal some silver arrows, and he attacked me. I killed him, and was soon flooded by his comrades and forced to flee the city. There's a bounty on me out there, and it seems someone is out to get it. Something just doesn't fit here. "You don't seem like a bounty hunter." I sidle over to where Horse stands, watchful and wary.

"Oh no, I am not... I salute you. The Night Mother has been watching you since you sent a soul to her. The blood of a killer runs through you, and she is most pleased by what she sees. I am here on her behalf to extend an invitation to you, an offer to join our family. For I am the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, of those who walk the shadows and all live in fear of."

I'm shocked. Of course I've heard of the Dark Brotherhood. The guild of assassins has a presence even in my province. They can strike any time or way they like, and are never caught. Everyone fears them, like this Lachance guy said. I used to be one of them. But since embarking from Argonia on my travels, I've nearly forgotten them. Becoming a killer myself has evaporated my fear of other killers. "Tell me more. Why only now? I've killed before."

"Anyone can take out a bandit on the road or stray travelers. But to kill a citizen, to risk one's own life and future with jail or worse punishment, is a true commitment to the Night Mother."

"So I'm part of your group now?"

Lachance shakes his head, never taking his eyes off me. His face remains expressionless. "We are no simple group, but _family. _Blood, spilt in honor of the Holy Matron, ties us together tighter than any other bond. We are a community that cares for each member. And that family extends rarely." He stares me down. "Kill a man named Rufio, at the roadside Inn of Ill Omen between the Imperial City and Bravil. He is old and weak, but he has been a... slight bother to our way of life. Kill him, and consider yourself welcomed into the family."

"That's all I have to do? Kill an old man?" I scoff. The job seems too easy, and there must be strings attached. I begin to doubt this secretive man. "You must dispose of him so that none see you, or suspect. Our weapon is secrecy. Do the job, and vanish. The road by the inn is patrolled by Imperial soldiers, and it is a frequent resting stop for Legion Foresters who are quick to notice any disrupt of the law. This is one of the reasons Rufio chooses this place to live." Without waiting for my answer, Lachance pulls a long dagger out of the folds of his robe. "Use this to do the deed. It is a virgin blade, thirsty for blood, and will serve you well. After Rufio is dead, when you next sleep at a location I deem fit, I will find you again."

I take the dagger warily, hilt first, expecting to be stabbed. The weapon feels heavy in my hand, and I realize it must be expensive. The blade is honed black with a red tint that seems to throb from the heart of the metal. Gold is filigreed into the hilt. As I inspect the dagger, I hear a slight rustle and look up quickly. But Lucien Lachance, in his black robe and hood, is gone, vanished into the night as if he was never there.

I pat Horse on the neck, noticing for the first time how calm he was the whole time. The man was frightening, yes, but my friend sensed no danger to us. "That was so strange. Let's try to get some sleep all the same, buddy." I fill up his corn bag and settle into my roll under the tent again, going over all that this strange guy said. First and foremost in my mind is one word: _family_. I lost my family a couple years ago not to death, but a much sadder fate; madness. I was blamed for something that never happened, and my family turned against me. I could never forgive that, so I left the mess in Argonia and traveled across the lands. It's been me on my own since then, and later I found Horse here in Cyrodiil. The loneliness, that feeling of not belonging anywhere, is constant and pressing. I've come to detest people and their petty problems and society, but at the same time I need them. Could this be a way? I fall asleep again with these thoughts mulling around.

I allow myself a tight four hours more of sleep, and wake feeling rested and energetic. I study the knife some more, and notice an engraving on the hilt spelling _Blade of Woe_. Even in the bright late-morning sunlight, there is a darkness in the weapon that chills me. I shove it into my pack, out of sight, as I ready Horse for our trip to Kvatch. Jumping into the saddle, we set off at a canter, both enjoying the bright weather and soft landscape ahead. I can just make out the towers of Kvatch on a rocky hill, miles ahead.

Our trip is uneventful but for one incident. As we near the city, I avoid the road for fear of Imperial patrols and depend on my map and the sun for direction. So it's a surprise when suddenly, out of nowhere, we run into an Imperial Watch soldier on a horse in the middle of the trees, about half a mile off the road.

The ironclad soldier immediately springs into action, pushing his heels into the bay horse's side and charging after us. I quickly realize that burdened as we are, there's no chance of outrunning the pair. Horse's small wounds have already begun to trickle a bit of blood from the exertion so I pull behind an outcrop of stones and leap off his back. "Horse, you stay here", I say while pulling my sword. But I barely get the words out when the other pair reaches us.

It's a pretty long battle, mostly because I'm so useless with a sword but my new shield protects me a lot. I won't bore anyone with the details, but I finally manage to dispatch the rogue soldier with a lucky thrust into a chink of his dark grey plate armor. I swear, it's like fighting with a clanking pot with no way of getting through the outer layers. But I do it, and return to find Horse sniffing at the bay gelding quietly. I quickly take for myself all useful items from the bay's saddlebags, then promptly set him free. No use sending a perfectly usable horse back to the Imperials if I don't have to. The gelding gallops away, tail high in the air, and I feel happy for its excitement. Our trip continues and we encounter no others, save for a couple skittish deer.

As we near Kvatch, we're forced to continue along the road as the landscape begins to get rockier. While studying the winding pale ribbon from behind some bushes, something strikes me as odd. I watch the road for over an hour, but no patrols pass us, neither the grey-plated Imperials nor fox-embroidered Kvatch guards. I decide to risk it and we clop onto the road hesitantly. There's an almost eerie silence that deepens the closer we get to the city. The road slopes upwards, and as it does a bad smell makes me wrinkle my nose. I glance up and see black smoke rising from the turrets of the city. As we round bend after bend of the road, the smell becomes an acrid stench, stinking of sulfur. Horse dances on his hooves, nervous as the deer we saw earlier. We've come a long way, and the coppery scent of his sweat surrounds us. Finally, about two miles out of the city, we come upon an encampment.

Tents, maybe twenty of them, spread around in disorderly rows. I slow Horse to a walk as we enter. There are low, two-sided ones like the one I slept in last night, and tall colorful pavilions with flags mounted on the central spire. People mill around in confusion, but the area isn't as crowded as you'd expect. Suddenly, around the next bend of the rising road, a panicked shape nearly runs straight into us. "Flee! Flee for your lives!" he screams at us, trying to push past. Horse snorts threateningly, blocking his way, his shoulders bunching. I pat his neck, signaling that this civilian is harmless, only scared. "Calm down, okay? Tell me what's going on here. Who are all these people camped outside the city? What's happening?"

The man seems shocked by what I say. As he backs off Horse's flank a little, I see that he's a wood elf, short and dressed in a dirty red and burgundy outfit. An expensive suit, ruined now. "You don't know? Where have you been? A bloody Oblivion Gate has opened right outside the city gates! Daedra poured into the city, burning and killing! I hear that Priest Martin was able to lead some people into the safety of the chapel, but only a few escaped outside the city. This here is what's left of the citizens of Kvatch! Savlian Matius still holds the barricades with a few soldiers, but it's only a matter of time until they're overrun!" he begins to panic again. This time, I let him pass. I scan the disorderly tents, the frightened people, and the smoking city looming above us all. No one pays attention to me and Horse. The smell of sulfur permeates the air. Suddenly I remember what Lucien Lachance told me last night. "_You're a killer."_

I turn Horse and we walk away from the scene.

...


End file.
